When Darkness Intrudes Upon the Day
by Rose and Thorn
Summary: Memories of a time past are torturing Edmund. Is it the White Witch? Or something more sinister?
1. The Torment Begins

**AN:** I know, I know, I'm dreadful starting a new story when I haven't even finished my other ones. It's just that... this idea struck and I had to follow through. Ergh, it's probably not very original, but I hope you like it anyway. I felt the need to write some good angst. :)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. For the last time!!!

* * *

The fire cast a soft light over the entire room, bathing the inhabitants of said room in a warm glow. Edmund, who disliked winter passionately, sat closest to said fire, his back to his siblings and his eyes trained on the flickering flames. He was uncharacteristically quiet.

Lucy, from her position on the rug, was also quiet, her eyes watched the back of her brother's head. From the way he would occasionally shiver and draw his legs towards his chest, she guessed that he was either feeling incredibly vulnerable, or simply cold. Perhaps it was both.

"Edmund." Susan's voice woke Edmund from his thoughtful trance, and he half turned towards his sister.

"Yeah?"

His voice was tired, Lucy mused. It was tired and almost sad. Lucy's brow creased. Edmund wasn't supposed to be sad. He was supposed to be cheerful, snarky, sarcastic and mischievous. Why, his voice hadn't sounded this alien since –

"What's wrong?"

Lucy almost smiled. Trust Susan to voice what she (and probably Peter, also) were thinking silently. She looked eagerly towards his brother, inexplicable anxious.

"Nothing," said Edmund slowly. Lucy's frown deepened. Trust Edmund to try and brush off their concerns. "I'm just a little tired."

"Oh." Susan rose from the couch and knelt beside her brother. She looked with motherly concern at the hollows in his cheeks and the circles under his eyes. He was so pale. Almost paper-white. What was wrong?

"Tired? Do you want to go to bed?" Susan's voice seemed to jump out of nowhere, surprisingly sharp.

"No."

Lucy leant back on her ankles and rubbed her forehead in a worried motion. She scurried over to her brother and, with a gentle, almost Susan-like nudge of his shoulder, forced him to look at her.

"Edmund," she said, biting her nether lip, "are you sure?"

"Positive," said Edmund, giving a weak smile. He tried to shrug out of his sister's grasp and frowned when he discovered that she was holding rather fast. "Let me go, Lu," he gritted.

Peter was there suddenly, his expression a mixture of puzzlement and concern.

"Are you sure, Old Chap?" he said, squatting on the opposite side of his brother.

"Positive," said Edmund again.

"You're not sick?"

There was a brief pause. A minor hesitation. And then:

"No, 'course not."

Peter, Susan, and Lucy exchanged a meaningful glance. "What aren't you telling us, Edmund?" asked Lucy quietly.

Edmund refused to meet his siblings eyes, instead focusing on the bright fire. "It's so cold," he murmured, almost silently. "What will happen when the fire burns out?"

Three pairs of eyebrows rose significantly. "That's not an answer, Edmund," said Susan patiently.

"I'm trying to give you an answer," Edmund shot back, his temper flaring momentarily before dwindling back to that stunned indifference. "It's just that I keep remembering..."

Silence.

"Remembering what, Edmund?" prompted Susan, feeling that the moment was too tense for light nicknames such as "Ed".

"An icy cavern," continued Edmund, his voice airy and his expression absent. His dark eyes were glazed, giving a far-way look to his entire face. "A rotting hell frozen over by countless tears."

Peter now looked thoroughly worried. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice pinched.

"Countless days and sleepless nights," Edmund continued, as if he hadn't heard. "Soul-numbing guilt. A woman made of ice –" here Edmund shivered slightly –"with a heart of stone. Cold... nightmares... guilt."

Lucy was crying now. Nothing seemed to be bringing their brother out of this trance. She let go of his shoulder as Peter began shouting in his ear.

"Snap out of it, Edmund!"

"She's cold... so cold. She struck me with the hilt of her wand. It hurt... but in some ways it helped. It distracted me from thinking of those I had betrayed. That was the first time she hit me..."

He wasn't speaking to them anymore. His shoulders were hunched and it was almost as if he had retreated into himself.

"She laughed when I cried. She sneered when I begged. She smiled when I let myself fall into the abyss of despair."

He straightened suddenly, his eyes darting here and there, frantically searching.

"How long have I been here? How long will she wait before she kills them?"

Peter had had enough. Rising from the floor and bringing Edmund with him he shook him roughly.

Edmund blinked.

Edmund cried.

"P-Peter," he stuttered softly, taking in blue eyes shining with tears. He looked behind and noticed Susan and Lucy's worried expression. "W - what happened?"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Peter asked, cutting straight to the point and releasing his hold on his brother's arms. "Why didn't you tell us what was bothering you?"

Edmund raised a shaking hand to his forehead. "I don't remember," he said. "Did I make an ass of myself?"

"You - don't remember... what you said?"

"No."

"You were talking about the Witch," Lucy whispered, her voice sounding strained. "You were acting so strange, Edmund. You didn't react. You just... spaced out."

Edmund blinked slowly. "I guess I'm just tired. Yeah, I should probably just go to bed." He grinned sheepishly, hoping to allay their fears.

Before any of his siblings could stop him, he ran swiftly from the room.

* * *

Once in his room, Edmund sat down on his bed and looked sadly at the floor, his head in his hands.

_You were talking about the Witch..._

The Witch. Even now, a year after he first met her, it would seem that she was still there, haunting him – refusing to let him go. Edmund shuddered subconsciously and drew his legs towards his chest.

_You - don't remember... what you said?_

No. He didn't remember. That was what scared him most. His mind was a blank. A fuzzy, raw, blank that made him shut his eyes and wish that he had never even entered Narnia. This had to be a dream... a nightmare.

A nightmare! Edmund's head shot up so fast that his was momentarily stunned. Of course, if he had been talking about that time...

It had to be a nightmare. Edmund laughed almost lightly and pinched his arm. Nothing. He pinched harder. Still nothing. Edmund's head went back into his hands. A single tear made its way through his fingers and splashed upon the carpeted floor.

Why was she haunting his days now, too? What did she want?

It never even struck him as odd that he was questioning the motives of someone who was, in fact, dead.


	2. A Chilling Dread

**AN: **My thanks go to all those who reviewed. You guys (and girls) rock! I'm sorry for the mystery, but I have every intention of letting this unravel slowly, so it may be quite a long fic. Besides, slightly insane Edmund is too much fun to write. Reviews, as always, are very appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Well, the plot is mine, but at the moment it's shaping up to look like quite the B Grade horror movie, and I'm sure that Lewis wouldn't want to own that. (Note to self: less horror, more angst.)

* * *

The next morning, Edmund woke up with a crick in his neck and a general feeling of nausea. His head hurt and his shoulders ached. With a weary sigh, the young boy dragged himself to his feet, shielding his face from the bright glare of the sun. He noticed, not without a shock, that he had fallen asleep on the floor, if the body imprint on the rug was anything to go by. Shuffling to the door, he threw it open and immediately lurched on to the frame.

"Say, Ed? Are you alright?" Peter's voice was in his ear, and Peter's arm was around his shoulder, pulling him from the doorway and supporting him, somewhat clumsily. "Are you alright?" he repeated.

Edmund looked up, ignoring the blood that rushed to his head, and feebly said:

"Of course. W-why wouldn't I be?" He scowled slightly, as he noticed the slurred tone.

Peter dragged Edmund back into the room and deposited him gently on the bed. Letting go of his brother, he grabbed a chair and leant back, arms folded, regarding his brother with careful interest.

"Edmund," he said, voice just a bit louder then he normally used.

The younger boy looked at the floor, making no sign that he had heard.

"Edmund." Even louder.

If possible, the boy's shoulders slumped even more.

"Ed - mund." Peter pronounced each syllable with a low growl.

"What!" Edmund's head shot up, looking his brother full in the face with a customary scowl.

When blue and brown eyes met, Peter felt a shock go through his whole system. Jumping subconsciously in the chair, the older boy's eyes widened.

"Ed..." he murmured.

His brother's eyes were wide, tortured, guilt-wracked. He looked as though he hadn't slept in a few years. The eye-contact lasted for only a few seconds, before it was broken, leaving a confused Peter and a self-conscious Edmund. The amount of emotion in those usually cheerful eyes left Peter breathless.

"Edmund," he said, realising that he sounded rather timid, "what's going on?"

"I - I don't know," said Edmund, bowing his head and placing it in his hands. "I keep blacking out. I don't remember anything..."

Peter was confused. Very confused. He tapped his brother's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting motion and tried to get him to raise his head. "We'll sort it out, Edmund."

"Yeah."

"You'll see. You'll be fine."

Silence. Peter got to his feet and began pacing the room. Obviously, what Edmund was going through was mental. But how was he supposed to isolate the problem? He wasn't a bleeding psychiatrist!

"You - you know I'm sorry. Don't you?" The sound of Edmund's voice breaking the uncomfortable silence shocked Peter from his reverie and caused him to rivet his attention upon his shaking brother. Wait! Shaking? Edmund never shook. Not even in battle. No, something was definitely wrong.

"Sorry?" said Peter slowly, processing the words. "Sorry for what?"

"For everything," was the sighed reply.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Edmund," said Peter confidently. "Unless, of course, you mean the time you put bugs in my helmet."

Peter's attempt at lightening the mood wasn't entirely wasted, as Edmund emitted a weak chuckle. The chuckling escalated, as Edmund lowered his head, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Peter smiled. Maybe his little brother was just overworked.

The chuckling was all out laughing now. Peter's expression grew worried, as the laughter took on a manic tone. Edmund's shoulders were shaking furiously, and his hands were clenching and unclenching. Moving closer, Peter (in a move that was quickly becoming familiar) grasped his brother's shoulders, forcing him to look up.

Edmund looked up, tears streaming down his face. His teeth were biting down hard upon his nether lip, drawing blood, and his eyes were wider then Peter had ever seen them - a silent plea for help. The laughter continued.

"Edmund!" Shake. Shake. "Stop laughing!"

"Cant... stop... laughing," Edmund cried, his voice sounding strangled and strangely somber, when compared to the shrieking laughter between each word.

Peter was no longer confused. He was panicked. Releasing his brother's shoulders, Peter backed towards the door, unsure of how to handle this situation.

"Stop!" he shouted, thoroughly worried. Was his baby brother going insane? "Please!"

Just as suddenly as the laughter began, it ceased, and Edmund slumped forward, hitting the ground with a loud: _Crack!_ Peter blinked, taking in the motionless form of his little brother and the now eerie silence.

"Edmund?" his voice sounded hoarse from his former yelling, as he shuffled over to his brother and knelt beside him. He touched his shoulder tentatively.

The silence was becoming unbearable.

Edmund didn't move. He didn't even breathe, as far as Peter could ascertain, and that fact made the High King's heart beat faster in worry. He turned the younger King over, on to his back, and let out a strangled gasp.

Edmund's eyes were still open, glazed over in that chilling look from the previous evening. What really scared Peter, however, was the thin trail of blood leaking from the younger boy's mouth. Peter could only hope that it was the result of the gnawing upon his lip... but a chilling pressure in Peter's heart told him otherwise. Something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

Peter's own heart felt heavy as lead, as he jumped from the young boy's side and dashed out of the room, yelling for Lucy and her blessed cordial.

* * *


End file.
